In Loving Memory
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: In July of 1924, Sarah Rogers made the most of her little boy's sixth birthday with a special dinner, a cake, and dreams of being a hero drawn on paper hats. In July of 2014, Steve Rogers, now Captain America, is ninety-six and visiting his mother's grave.


_July 4th, 1924, Steve's sixth birthday _

"Wake up, my darling." a soft smile into the silky blond hair of her only son. "Steven, wake up. It's your birthday, sweetheart."

"Mama?"

His little hands folded into the white cotton of her apron and he nuzzled his head into her lap, the lavender scented folds of floral fabric lulling him back to sleep like the gentle lullaby she sang to him every night. She gently stroked his hair, leaning down to kiss his head. Oh, how she loved this little boy. There was no doubt in her mind, from the time her sweet Steven had entered this world, he had filled the void left by her alcoholic husband. She marvelled every day at how much love and joy, he could bring just by smiling that sweet little gap-toothed grin. He was full of life, her son, and he never failed to render her speechless with his loving nature.

From hand-made cards on scraps of paper to the smallest of little flowers found in the cracks of a crumbling sidewalk, he always had something for her and she cherished every thing that came from her son's chubby little hands. He was quite small for his age and his susceptibility to illnesses made it a challenge for her to care for him at times but they always managed and they always would. Today, however, was a special day and she had every intention of making it as special as possible.

"Wake up, darling. I have a surprise for you." she rubbed his back through the thin t-shirt he wore.

It was too thin.

She'd have to save up a little money and buy him some new t-shirts, and maybe some new shoes. He never asked for much but she tried to provide as best as she could for her baby.

"What is it, Mama?" his bright baby blue eyes opened slowly and his lisp was prominent in his sleepy voice.

She slipped her arms around his small body and lifted him from the bed, feeling the dampness of sweaty sheets, beneath his little body. He folded into her lap and her arms enveloped him in a floral-scented warmth, the same warmth that soothed him many a night when he was sick or the sounds of the city tore him violently from the cozy depths of sleep. She pressed a kiss into his hair and tucked him against her, smiling brightly down at her little boy. "Well I saved a little money and bought a few things so I thought we could make a special dinner and your favorite date cake for your birthday."

"Really?"

Sarah Rogers couldn't help but laugh and nod at her son's enthusiasm. "Absolutely, sweetheart. I even saved the newspaper because what is a birthday without a hat?"

Steven's little arms felt so thin and wiry when they wound around her waist, but she willed herself not to think of Steven's weight. He was small for his age, yes, but he was a happy and for the most part, healthy little boy, who enjoyed life when he was able. His excited gratitude was muffled by the cotton of her dress but she knew what he was saying. She scooped him up and carried him into the bathroom to help him get ready for the day.

"No, silly, the other way." Sarah laughed, reaching over to fold his hat properly.

The remnants of the newspaper was spread out on the kitchen table before them, any unread sections folded into hats, or falling victim to Steve's clumsy little hands. He had insisted, they make hats before they make his cake and the rest of his birthday dinner. When his hat was folded properly, she opened it and settled over his hair, only to laugh when the pointed brim fell across the eyes. He giggled and pushed the hat up, but his efforts proved futile as his head was a wee bit small for a hat made out of newspaper.

"I think we will have trouble keeping that hat on you, Steve." she laughed tapping the brim. She stood up from her chair and made her way around their small kitchen, gathering the necessary supplies. "Let's get started on that cake, okay?"

"Okay, Mama."

xxx

"Be careful, Steve." Sarah warned, greasing an old pan with leftover butter but her eyes were focused on something much cuter. Her little boy standing on a chair at the table, wrapped in her apron to protect his clothes, wielding a large kitchen spoon and mixing cake batter in a bowl that could cover his head. Her beloved bowl had been one of the few gifts her husband had bothered to buy for her, and it was purchased in a rare moment of sobriety. "I think it's ready for the pan, wouldn't you say?"

"I think so!" he nodded sharply, looking up at her with bright blue eyes.

She set the pan down on the table and pried the spoon from his hand. She pulled it from the batter and picked up the bowl to pour the mix into the pan. To her surprise, Steve reached under her arm and stuck a finger into the batter. She was just about to stop him from eating it when he tilted up onto his tip-toes and smeared it across her cheekbone, giggling like the cheeky devil she always knew him to be. She just laughed along with him and scraped the remaining batter into the pan. She tapped as much off of the spoon as she could before touching it to Steve's nose, leaving a dollop of creamy mix there.

"There, now we match." Sarah grinned widely.

"You're silly, Mama!" Steve laughed.

"Birthdays are a time to be silly!" Sarah encouraged, sliding the cake pan into the oven. "Now, shall we dance?"

They danced and laughed their way around their living room, humming silly tunes and sillier lyrics that made no sense, until the cake was ready. While it cooled and Steve busied himself with a book and a glass of water, Sarah set about making a birthday dinner. Baked ham and mashed potato. It had been a bit out of their budget but she had been frugal and saved every penny until she was certain she could afford what she needed to make his birthday extra special.

He deserved it.

His recent bouts with asthma, among other illnesses had made breathing in the warm, humid air, a near impossibility and it had taken him several days to recover from the last attack. He needed a treat, something to boost his spirit and give him a bit more meat on his bones. She wasn't one to concern herself with their state of living, just grateful to have a place to live, but that didn't stop her from wishing that she wasn't so impoverished, she couldn't seek proper medical attention for her son when the occassion called for it. And, he desperately needed it.

Sarah had been accused, many times by people who didn't know Steven's medical history, of babying her son. Keeping him prisoner in their tiny apartment, shielding him from the world, but no one ever really bothered to ask her why. To concern themselves with why she was doing it, all they cared about was that she did it, and in the eyes of a society that was marginally higher in status than she, Sarah found herself with the title of 'bad mother', even though for all intents and purposes, he was a happy, well-adjusted kid. He attended school as regularly as his health allowed and he played in the streets as often as he could, just like all of the other kids.

But, the truth was, his health didn't allow him much of a social life and outside of his self-appointed bodyguard, James Buchanan Barnes, Steve didn't have very many friends. His size painted a target on his back and most of the other children found entertainment in tormenting him. It saddened her to think that they would never know what a sweet, kind-hearted friend they could have in her son, because they were too busy picking on his size.

But, that was a concern for another day.

She busied herself with cleaning the kitchen and preparing the table for their meal, as she did everyday. When she stopped for a moment to check on her son, she couldn't help but grin when she heard him singing a song to himself while he drew pictures with a pencil on his hat.

"Dinner will be a while, yet, Steve." Sarah took a seat beside her son on the couch. "What would you like to do? We could go outside and play, or go for a walk."

Steven shook his head, tossing his pencil down, and reaching for his mother. "All the other kids call me bad names because I'm small."

"I know, baby." Sarah nodded sadly, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

"Could we just stay home?" Steve pleaded.

"Of course, baby." Sarah conceded sadly, looking down at the paper hat clutched in her son's little hands. "What are you drawing there?"

And, he took off like a bottle rocket, launching into a long-winded explanation of the shield drawn on his hat. It was simple; three rings and a circle with a star in the middle. He told her about his dreams of saving the world from all of the evil, ugly monsters that took hold of his dreams and twisted them into nightmares. "I want to be a hero, Mama!" he cried happily, holding up the hat for her to see. "I want to grow up and be big and strong!"

"You will, darling!" she encouraged him, even as the truth reared it's ugly head in the back of her mind. "You will save the world, someday!"

"Would Daddy be proud?" Steve questioned softly, blue eyes dark in mourning for a father he had never met.

Would he be proud?

She couldn't answer that question honestly - her husband, before the war, had been nothing more than a raging alcoholic. She couldn't really say that she had missed him all that much upon learning of his death, but she had played the part of grieving widow and expectant mother as society expected her too. She couldn't tell her son that his father wouldn't care, probably wouldn't even bother to listen to his own son's prattles about being a superhero. And, she wasn't going to tell him that.

She plastered on a fake smile and brushed his cheek with her hand. "He would be so proud, sweetheart!"

"Do you think I'll ever be a hero?" he stuck his hat back on his head, blue eyes shadowed by the brim.

"If that's what you want, Steve." she smiled sweetly. "Being a hero is an awful big responsibility for a six year old, don't you think?"

"No!"

"Really? I think it is." Sarah grinned cheekily, tilting her head as if to ponder him. "Especially for one who hasn't had his dinner yet!"

Her hands crept forward and long fingers danced across his abdomen and ribs, eliciting loud shrieks and happy giggles from him. He stumbled backwards, looking for purchase away from his mother's hands, but she caught him around his tiny waist and brought him forward, into her lap where she kissed him repeatedly on the head; loud and exaggerated kisses that popped and smacked and made them both laugh just as her singing had. She soon calmed, fear of risking her son's health keeping her from going too far with their playful interaction. Instead, she directed his attention back to his drawing and excused herself to check on dinner.

"Steve, go wash up for dinner, sweetheart." she tilted her head toward their small bathroom. "It's almost ready."

While he scurried off to ready himself for dinner, she pulled the ham out of the oven and sliced it, stirred the mashed potatoes, and checked the cake one more time before carrying it all to the table, dish by dish. She was just setting the cake down when she heard his footsteps as he entered the kitchen. He gasped and his eyes widened at the spread of food before him. Usually, they didn't have much variety where food was concerned, so to see a baked ham and mashed potato on the table was a birthday present, in and of itself.

"A ham, Mama?" Steve clambered up onto a chair.

"Yes."

She served them each a healthy portion and poured them each a glass of cold milk to accompany the meal. Grace was said and the food was enjoyed. Sarah was made especially happy when her son enthusiastically asked for a second helping. She waited patiently for him to finish his meal before slicing into the cake and serving him a sizable piece of his favorite dessert. Dark golden dates stained the moist white cake and added a rich, decadence to the simple flavor.

"Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Steven, Happy Birthday to you!" she sang softly, stroking his hair while he ate his cake.

xxx

The sun had just begun its slow ascent into the sky; pink and gold leeching into pearl gray, painting a tender picture of the early hour. It was his mother's favorite time of the day, when she could forget all of their troubles, and soak in the warmth and the purity. No, they hadn't had much at all, but he distinctly remembered it being more than enough. She had loved him until the very end, and he spent every day in this crazy new century fighting the bad guys for her, in her honor. Just like he'd told her on that hot July fourth, when he'd drawn shields on newspaper hats, and told her how he wanted to be big and strong like a superhero.

"I miss you, Mama." he whispered to the marble angel that marked his mother's grave. As soon as he'd gotten his hands on the money, he'd bought her a proper headstone. A beautiful angel with wings wrapped protectively around itself, just like his mother had been. "It's my birthday, again. I'm ninety-six, this year. I haven't aged much, though. I guess that's what happens when you let a bunch of scientists inject a serum into you and then put you on ice. I think you'd be proud, Mama."

He spared a glance over his right shoulder where Natasha stood, far enough away to give him privacy but close enough to be there if he needed her. "I met a girl." he laughed shyly, almost as if his Mom was standing right in front of him. "Her name's Natasha. She's...she's everything to me. I don't know what I'd do without her. She's my hero."

The bouquet of colorful wildflowers, ruffled by the morning breeze, remind him of why he was there and he knelt at the base of the statue to place them on the ground. "I did what I always wanted too, Mama. I became big and strong and a hero. I guess. I don't think I'm doing anything more than what I have to do for my country, for my girl, but some call me a hero. I still wish you were here, sometimes. I wish you could meet Natasha and I wish you could sing to me. Like you used to. I can still hear you sing." it was just there that his voice caught in his throat, mourning and loss overwhelming him. "I can still hear you sing those silly songs and even Happy Birthday over my favorite date cake. And, I hope I always hear you because, if I can't hear you then I can't remember you and I don't want to forget you."

He pressed a kiss onto two of his fingers and brushed them over the engraving on the marble.

"I love you, Mama."

xxx

_In Loving Memory of Sarah Marie Rogers _

_1895 - 1936 _

_"I love you."_

* * *

**Doesn't little Steve just melt your heart? I just loved the idea of six year old Steve! But, anyway, to my dearest Mari, I must thank you because you helped with this story and didn't even know it. I needed birthdays, and dates of death for this story and I ended up on your database. I couldn't find a date of birth for his mother though, so I had to play a guessing game and just kind of wing it. So, she was about forty one when she died, in this story. Which would have made her twenty-three when she had Steve. And, as for little Steve's drawings of the shield...every little boy dreams of being a hero. He just didn't know his dreams would come true. Leave me some love, Dolls! **

**Love, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


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